


The Snow Winter

by little_ogre



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Christmas, Intimacy, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post Rose Creek, Secret Santa Fic, Snowed In, non graphic description of amputated limb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28190184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_ogre/pseuds/little_ogre
Summary: Billy and Goody and a snowbound Christmas.Billy interrupted himself with a yawn, and Goody shook his shoulder slightly. “Is this going to be a dirty story?” he asked, as Billy was making himself comfortable on Goodnight’s arm, drowsy and sated and lazily contemplating a second round at some point in the future.“It’s a moral story.” Billy answered. “You think missionaries teach dirty stories at Christmas?”Goody looked at him. “Remind me and I’ll get a bible and read you some real dirty stories” he said.
Relationships: Goodnight Robicheaux/Billy Rocks
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	The Snow Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iwritesometimes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritesometimes/gifts).



The man who came into Fuller’s feed store looked serious, his brows drawn tight together as he stamped the snow off his feet and shook his head. Goody was sitting on a barrel playing checkers with another customer and smoking lazily. The handle of his crutch rested comfortably against the floor and he was using it to lean against slightly. Outwardly he gave no sign of attending the hasty conversation of the newcomer and Mr Fuller but Billy knew he had his ear cocked. It didn't really matter, in only a few moments the news were all over the little shop.

“The train isn't coming, the railroad has stopped running trains, till spring.”

It was all anyone could talk about in the hotel afterwards, men sitting on their beds and discussing back and forth and nothing could change the fact. The railroad had stopped trying to dig out the cut,and there would be no more trains until spring.

“They can't get the trains through, they no sooner get a train through the cut than a blizzard comes and snows it in again. They’ve got two trains between here and Tracy, snowed under between cuts. Everytime they cleared a cut they threw up the snow on both sides and now all the cuts are packed full of snow to the top of the snowbanks. And at Tracy the superintendent ran out of patience.”

This was the long and short of it, and they were stuck here in this two bit town the whole winter where the supplies were slowly running out and you could already see the bottom of the flour barrel in the general store and no trains until spring, whenever that may be.

Billy’s face in the lamplight was still, but Goody knew every twitch of his eyelids and Billy was fucking pissed.He didn’t have to say it, if Goody hadnt insisted on a last minute detour for two morgan horses, a matched pair that he had heard of, they wouldn't be stuck in this no name town in Dakota territory. The liquid eyes glittered at him and then Billy turned away into the dark of the common bunk room, his back a stiff line. It had been a venture anyway, to come through Dakota territory on the way back from Wyoming, where they had bought stud horses for their new business in Rose Creek. The horses Bouge’s men had brought had formed a tidy little herd, and breeding horses was something both Goody and Vasquez knew, even if they came at it from different ends, and with Goody losing his leg and the damage to Billy shoulder it was out of the question for them to go back to their old ways. So they had travelled to Wyoming for stud horses - something both Goody and Vas swore up and down was needed - even though there were stallions in the herd they had already. Billy wasn't entirely sure, it sounded boring when Goody, Vasquez and Chisholm sat up all night discussing it. He had gone with Goodnight anyway, partially out of an itch to travel and partially a simple inability to let Goodnight out of his sight again.

As it turned out they had arrived to the little town on the last train managing to get through, and at first Goodnight had not seemed worried when no more trains came, saying he needed some time to soften up the young man with the horses who still refused to sell, but as the months went by Billy started to see cracks in his confidence. Their bags were constantly packed but each day of the expected arrival of the train they woke up to the sounds of another blizzard. When the third blizzard within the week hit, the management of the hotel had put all the guests together in one room, with the iron stove in the middle. The beds were shared two to a bed and curtains between the beds gave the illusion of privacy. Sharing a bed was not much outside their usual arrangement but of course the presence of the other people on the other side of the thin cloth walls stopped any of their usual activities, Billy was afraid of as much as giving Goody a peck on the check even when they were bedded down in the thick close dark. Although truth be told he didn't feel much like it either.

They had one lamp which was lit for two hours in the evenings and then they all had to go to bed, to save on coal and kerosene. To pass the time Goody had taken to whittling the handle of his crutch, making it more suited to the curve of his arm and finally started trying to carve decorations in the shape of curling vines and leaves. Billy sharpened his knives or made button candles from tallow and rags from an old shirt. The magazines went round from the hotel to the general store, to the feed shop and back to the hotel to be read and read over again. In the days Goody played checkers with the other men in the general store or the feed shop while Billy stood restless, looking out of the frosted over window,frozen in the moment, like a trapped bird.

The constant presence of others weighed down on him, and he longed for solitude, but the unpredictable storms coming as fast as from one hour to the next made it difficult to walk much further beyond the last house on the main street. And Goodnight, with only one leg, and the remains susceptible to frostbite could not do much more than hobble from house to house and made Billy too nervous to let him out of his sight for long among strangers. So even on the fine days he could not get more than a moment or two to himself, and none alone with Goodnight. And so the days slid by, itching and chafing against Billy like the wet mufflers and wool mittens he had to wear. He retreated deep within himself, hiding away under a stoic exterior. And everyday they were all conscious that the supplies got lower and lower, less food, less coal, less kerosene.

For all his faults Goody had never been much of a gambler as far as Billy knew, but he had always been a fraudster, so one night when Goody joined in the lackluster poker game played in the bunk room, not only playing with gusto but losing left and right, he knew something was afoot. 

In the end Goody gave up an exaggerated sigh and pulled up a watch Billy had never seen before and put it on the table, “It was a gift from my Daddy,” he said solemnly, and put it in the pot, a sussurusation went through the room and suddenly everyone was staring at the watch, a genuine Robicheaux heirloom. And it was as if there was suddenly gold in the game, every man wanted to join and play, Goody subtle cajoling them in until every man was either in the game or absorbed watching. The whole room was drawn into it when Goody discreetly caught Billy’s eye and motioned with his chin to the stairs leading up to the abandoned rooms.

Taking Billy by the hand he led him through the darkened corridor into one of the rooms, it was above the communal sleeping hall and the stove pipe which went through the floor and out through the roof made the room a shade warmer than the icy corridor. 

The room was lit by the soft clear glow of a kerosene lamp, the glass bowl small enough to comfortably fit into Billy’s hand, and it felt like more light than he had seen in ages. The bed in the room was made up with sheets and blankets and when Billy touched them they were warm, heated up with two hot bricks at the end of the bed.

“Whats all this?” he asked Goody, admiring how the light played on the panes of his face, caught the shape of his mouth. Allowed himself to admire now when it was just the two of them. Letting little of the anger go, it wasn't really Goody’s fault that they were here during the coldest winter in ages, even if it was his damn fool idea. And it wasn't Goody’s fault that they weren’t as they had been, where the threat of blizzards would have hardly kept them locked in a town so little to their liking. 

Goody leaned on his crutch, looking unbearably smug at Billy’s surprised reaction.

“I know you haven't been paying much heed to the calendar with the storms all making the days the same but do you know what day it is today?

Billy shook his head, and Goody smiled like the cat who got all the cream.

“It's December 24th, tomorrow is Christmas Day.”

Christmas was one of Goody’s odd traditions, something he seemed to mark almost despite himself, even divorced from religion and family as he was. An event in the mental calendar remembered more out of force of habit than nostalgia or any connection to it. Billy had never celebrated it, didn't even know about it until after the railroad, his first winter on the run.

“That still doesn't answer my question. What's this?”

“This,” Goody said, hobbling over to Billy, standing opposite him with his crutch fixed under his arm, and a sly smile at the corner of his mouth. “Is your Christmas gift. Don't think I know what you haven't wished for most of all, cooped up here as we’ve been.”

Billy wordlessly raised his eyebrows at him at his presumption and Goodnight batted his arm lightly.

“Privacy of course, you deviant. I would never dare to tell you what to do with it, although of course I do have a few suggestions.”

Billy could feel a smile cracking his face, the one he always had for Goody, the one he seemed to find everywhere, even on top of a church steeple moments away from certain death.

“Suggestions?” he said and Goody nodded, his free hand reaching out to glide along Billy’s belt, playfully circling the belt buckle.

“One or two” Goody agreed. 

When he had first lost his leg in Rose Creek Goody had been hesitant to come back to Billy’s bed. Shame and self-consciousness twinning in him, the sore healing limb making him uncertain and unwilling to be touched. Lust had been slow to come back to him, and it had taken time and patience for Billy to wait until he came out of his shell. The pause had given something to their lovemaking, something fragile and hesitant, making it feel almost new. The sight of Goodnight taking off his clothes giving Billy an almost giddy thrill. Sleeping in the communal room had meant a long abstinence and he was hungry for Goody now, wanting his hands on his skin, to feel his rangy leanness and the dear dear life pulsing in him. Even the remains of his leg was dear to him, a stark reminder about what had to be left behind so they could live again. To Billy not a sight of loss but a road marker, a symbol of what he could have lost, and well, the whole of Goodnight against one leg seemed to him a cheap prize. He knew Goody was less accepting, and found it difficult to adapt to his new circumstances but Billy couldn't help but consider it a bargain.

The undressing was by necessity quick, the cold causing them to hiss and hurry before diving into the warmed bed. Billy just had the presence of mind to put the chair with their clothes close to the stove pipe so they would not be frozen in the morning. They peeled off the final layers in the bed, Goody’s hands calloused and familiar, quickly unbuttoning his underclothes, pausing to suck deep bruises on his collarbones once the smooth buttons glided through their holes. He buried his head in Goody’s neck and breathed him in with deep huffing breath, pressing as close as he could, happy with just his hands resting spread over Goody’s ribs. It was warm in their little nest of blankets and in spite of the cold nipping at his ears and at the top of his shoulders where they peeked out of the covers he felt warm for the first time in weeks. 

Kissing Goody was the same, kissing Goody was always the same, a deep headlong rush, the silky wet slide of his lower lip and the familiar flavour, indescribable but distinct.

Billy held him close carding his hands through his hair and kissing him as deeply as he possibly could. He was lost in it,the clean soft feeling of the sheets, Goody’s wiry hair, the thin skin on the inside of his arms and the hollows of his armpits, sternum and mouth. After a while Goody’s warm mouth travelled from his mouth, over his jaw and collarbones, before it started taking a decided bent for the south. Billy was supported by pillows and Goody was between his legs, easing them up over his shoulders with a familiar movement as he lowered his head to take Billy in his mouth. 

Billy felt his spine bending and hips buckin, his toes curling and uncurling, it felt like a hot bath, the almost luxurious feeling of the sheets against his bare skin after months of sleeping in their clothes, of being alone, finally alone and unobserved. Well not quite, Goody was observing him, his eyes dark and devouring. His hands were greedily splayed over Billy’s ribs, eager to take in as much of him as possible. Even this was new, previously Goody had preferred to be on his knees, tucked in between Billy’s legs but they had learned to change. It had been awkward, and required a good deal of swearing, and even on occasion stubborn perseverance as all lust vanished from the scene, replaced by awkward positions, but they had persisted and now here they were, Goody sucking Billy’s dick with a hunger that had been impossible to imagine a few months ago. His fingers tracing from the insides of his thighs, to his ass and in between the cheeks, using the saliva dripping wet from his balls to carefully stroke and breach him, curling his fingers into Billy’s body, the feeling ricocheting between the two points, until he felt like a helpless puppet, suspended between Goody’s mouth and hands. 

After such long abstinence there was no drawing it out. Pleasure washed over Billy in a great cresting wave, and his body arched against Goody’s in a taut bow, his head thrown back and throat bared. Afterwards he sank back against the pillows lazily winding his arms around Goody’s neck and kissing him as he finished hot and silky against his stomach. The laid in sated silence for a bit content to just kiss and be close, the whole long winter separating them. 

“Merry Christmas,” Goodnight murmured, rubbing his face against Billy’s like a lazy cat.

“Whatever,” Billy responded amicably, lighting a cigarette, due to the scarcity of tobacco now a solemn occasion, and inhaled. Goodnight laughed, warm and indulgent.

“Actually,” Billy said, “I have celebrated Christmas before we met. It was my first winter as an outlaw and I spent it in a little mission station way out of nowhere.” He wiggled into the bed and contemplated the smoke. “They told this story for Christmas,” he said. “This thin little priest, and five vaqueros and me trapped in the snow. We slept with the cows inside the house just to keep warm, and everybody cursed and spit on the floor and for Christmas this slip of a man, 80 pounds soaking wet told us a kid’s story…” Billy sighed, gaze lost in the ceiling, enjoying his smoke, and Goody prodded him gently.

“You recall anything about that story?” Goody asked, leaning out of the bed to get his own cigarette case, and Billy leaned back and frowned, before he started speaking, slow and thoughtful.

“There was a man out walking in the dark night. He’s searching for fire because his wife was giving birth, but it was a dark, dark night and everywhere he came to the stove was cold and all the fires burnt out. He ran into the fields around the town and he found a shepherd who was sitting around a small fire. All his sheep had laid down for the night, like a wall around him and his big dogs were by his side with long teeth to bite anyone who came close.”

Billy interrupted himself with a yawn, and Goody shook his shoulder slightly. “Is this going to be a dirty story?” he asked, as Billy was making himself comfortable on Goodnight’s arm, drowsy and sated and lazily contemplating a second round at some point in the future.

“It’s a moral story.” Billy answered. “You think missionaries teach dirty stories at Christmas?”

Goody looked at him. “Remind me and I’ll get a bible and read you some real dirty stories” he said.

“Well, the shepherd saw the man standing there by his sheep, he thought he was a thief, for he was a bad man who always thought the worst of everyone, and he threw his cane at him, so, like a spear. And it came flying towards the man, straight at him but just as it was about to strike him it fell to the ground without hurting him. The man called out to the shepherd, “Can you give me coals from your fire, because my wife is giving birth and we need to warm the child?” The shepherd was not a nice man, and had never given anyone help all his life but he said “If you can come here and take it, I’ll give you a coal or two.” And now he felt a little afraid because the man stepped lightly onto the backs of the sheep who neither stirred nor twitched and allowed him to come all the way up to the fire. And the dogs who had been by the shepherd’s side rushed up, barking and growling and baring their teeth but when they came up to the man they started wagging their tails and rolling at his feet and now the man was all the way up to the fire and he asked again if he could have some embers for his fire. And the shepherd could see he carried no basket and no kindling and no lantern to bring the fire in, and he felt happy because this meant he wouldn’t help the man, he answered he could have a coal or two but nothing else, not as much as a taper, or a stick to carry the fire. Then the man reached out, and the shepherd was surprised because he plucked the embers out of the fire with his bare hands and he put them into his folded coat. He thanked the shepherd and moved to walk away but the shepherd stopped him.

“What night is this?” he asked. “What night is this, when staff do not strike, the sheep are not afraid, the dogs do not bite and the fire won’t burn? When you can carry burning embers in your cloak as safely as stones? How come every living thing shows you compassion?”

Goody was silent leaving the question unanswered and after a while he looked at Billy. “And then what happened?” he asked and Billy blew out smoke, frowning.

“I don't remember, something about how Jesus was born and the angels were on earth, flapping and singing. Kids stuff. But I think,I like that question, _“when the spear do not strike, the dogs don't bite and the fire won't burn”_. And I think maybe one night my knife will miss a target, or bullet turn away and it’s because one night - _one_ night... I like that.” He smiled, smug and stubbed out his cigarette. “But most of the time I don’t miss” he said, and Goddy blew air through his mouth in a small sound that turned into a huffy laugh.

“You are one mean son of a bitch,” he said and Billy flicked him on the forehead.

“Don’t be mean about my mother,” he said softly, taking Goody’s half finished cigarette out of his hand, and stealing a drag before gently stubbing it out, saving the unsmoked half.

In the morning they tiptoed down in their socks and crept to bed, still in the dark, and when Goody smiled at him over his coffee cup at the breakfast table and wished him a Merry Christmas he found he could smile and say it back, and almost mean it.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays to Iwritesometimes, who wanted holiday themes, snuggling in front of a fire, decorations and kisses at midnight.
> 
> This is a stealth crossover with The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder as Goody and Billy are obviously snowed in in De Smet after trying and failing to buy Prince and Lady off Almanzo Wilder. The winter of 1880-81 really was uncommonly cold with long stretches of blizzards and all trains stood still, however that wasnt until well into January.The story Billy tells Goodnight is "The Holy Night" by writer Selma Lagerlöf, it was published 1904 thus continuing my theme of Goodrock stories with anachronistic literature references.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
